Moon Family
by Military Mechanic
Summary: It's a birthday today, but the woman who hosts it doesn't know that. Doesn't know much of anything, anymore. Which is why Augusta refuses to go, refuses to put herself in pain for something that doesn't matter anymore. Which is why Neville goes on his own - and, wow, is the moon bright tonight.


A/N: Hi there, everyone! Recently, I've had the horrible urge to write for this fandom again. And I stumbled across the Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenge forum. This was for the Chinese Moon Festival Challenge, during the Family Slice. And, uh, enjoy.

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It was night out, and he shouldn't be doing this he knew. His gran would have a fit if she found out that he'd snuck, not just out of the manor, but half-way across muggle London as well.

On his own.

With no wand.

In the middle of the night - or was everything after midnight classified as morning? Neville didn't remember, which he knew was just something else that his grandmother would have scolded him for, were she around and able to read his thoughts. After all, he was almost twelve now. He should know simple things like the time of the day by now. Most of the time, he did.

Tonight, however, Neville's mind simply wouldn't grasp simple facts like that. It was too busy, trying to help the ambling child work his way through the dark streets and up to the equally dark phonebooth.

Pushing the door open, he slipped inside. Pulled it close behind him, then turned and pressed the set of numbers that was so beyond familiar to him by now, that he could recite even in his sleep. When the nasal electronic voice echoed about the booth, he clearly stated "St. Mungoe's."

Then Neville was spiralling, down, down, down, faster and faster and faster, only to come to an abrupt halt at the bottom. Like always, it felt as though his stomach and lungs had stayed up top, in the muggle world. His breath came in hazard gasps and he had to fight to calm himself down before slipping outside of the booth, vision blurring at the sudden change in atmosphere.

From the dark, dingy streets of London, Neville had been spun right into the world of magic. As always, the lobby of the hospital was crowded, even at such an absurd time of night-morning. The few, rickity chairs to his left were filled, and one man, with a large, pus filled abrasion on the side of his face, turned to look at him. Neville offered the sick wizard a slight smile, then turned and scurried up to the check-in desk.

"Hello?" he asked, voice soft. It didn't matter how often he did this, coming to visit in the middle of the night, when he should be tucked into bed, he couldn't get over his nerves. Not when around people with such grand powers compared to his own, dwindling stores of magic.

The witch behind the desk shuffled her paper work and peered down at Neville over her wire-rimmed glasses. Upon seeing him, the tight look on her age faced softened, if only a little. "Oh, dear. Back again, are we?"

"Y-yes, ma'am." mutted Neville, shifting his feet slightly. As always, he was very aware that the robe he wore was a smidgen too small for him, a smidgen too faded. "I, uh, I wanted to see my parents?"

"Of course, mister Longbottom." said the medi-witch, who had been working here, behind this desk, for almost eight years now. Her name was Mathilda, and her heart ached everytime this young boy came into the ward. "Your mother should be awake by now. Feel free to take your time."

Neville offered her a slight smile, and then he turned on his heel and started down one of the too-white halls. It smelled of antisceptic here, and strange plants that Professor Sprout hadn't even began to cover yet. It made everything feel clinical but, at the same time, it was comforting. Something that Neville knew like the back of his hand, because wasn't he always here? Walking down the same, white halls? Pausing outside of the same room, like he was afraid that the people within would bite him?

Yes, he was, but that wasn't what he was afraid of. No, Neville was always afraid that they would have forgotten have. Just like everything else in their minds - and he didn't think that he could bare that, not now.

Taking a deep breath, Neville pushed open the door to the ward, room 34C, in the Permanant Residence wing of the hospital. Inside, a small lamp had been turned on, elluminating the room with a gentle glow. Two beds took up almost the entirety of the room; but only one was occupied, by a man that never moved, never spoke, never slept. Just laid there, blank eyes staring up at the cieling as though it held the answers to the world.

When he was younger, Neville thought that it might have. He used to curl up at his fathers side, and the two would watch the cieling until his gran insisted that it was time to go.

Now, he tried not to look in that direction. Instead, he shuffled inside, letting the door close behind him. A look around revealed that his mother was on the opposite side of the room, perched on the edge of her bed and fiddling with the shiny, red wrapper of some hard candy or the other.

Neville smiled and cleared his throat. She looked up - and her face was blissfully blank, untouched by the horrors of the world around her. Face smooth and free of wrinkles, with perfectly combed auburn hair that fell around her in curls. Pale skin and large, light blue eyes. Eyes that, in that moment, looked so much like the full moon outside it was astonishing.

Both were clear. Both were empty. Both held false promises.

Yet this was his mother and, because of that, Neville ambled over to her and held a hand out. Smiled when she placed the wrapper in his palm and let out a coo, because that was all that her ruined vocals could do at this point.

"Morning, mum." he said, and he forced a cheeriness into his voice that he knew would comfort her. "Sorry I couldn't bring you anything, but I wanted to say happy birthday anyway."

His mother just gave him a vapid smile and started to play with the hem of her dress.


End file.
